


Who She was to Us

by TheScarletEyes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know what to tag this, Jon and Martin talk about Sasha, M/M, it's sad, spoilers for mag 165
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29063100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletEyes/pseuds/TheScarletEyes
Summary: “Do you remember what she looked like? Before her… before that?”***After the carousel, Jon and Martin talk about Sasha... the real Sasha.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Who She was to Us

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS FOR MAG 165!!!**

“Do you remember what she looked like? Before her… before that?”

Jon did not answer him immediately. He stayed silent for a while. He looked like he was thinking, maybe remembering? No, knowledge came instantly to him now. If the Eye could tell him who she was, he would know by now.

Martin could still hear the sounds on the carousel coming from behind them, so he knew they were still in Stranger territory, heading towards whatever new domain, whatever new horror awaited them. It wasn’t what Martin expected the apocalypse to be when they first headed out of the safehouse. He didn’t know what he expected to be honest. Maybe a landscape like something out of a Hollywood movie, rundown houses, ransacked stores, empty streets filled with abandoned vehicles in a city’s failed attempt at escaping the inevitable. Instead, it was long stretches of fear made tangible, every person’s worst nightmare brought to life, and him and Jon passing through them and by them, unscathed – physically, at least – merely observing. Well, until now.

“I do know. Well, the Eye knows, but I doubt if that makes any difference now. And I know you would like me to tell you about her,” said Jon.

“I do. I want to remember her. Killing that thing, seeing you smite her was…” Martin clenched his fist. “It was immensely satisfying, Jon, maybe frighteningly so. But I want, I need to remember her. She deserved at least that.”

“But that’s the thing, Martin, even if I do tell you, you won’t remember. I’ll talk about how she looked like and you’ll think I’m describing a stranger. You won’t reconcile the memories you have of her with the image I can present to you. There will be no moment of recognition, no ‘oh, that was her.’

“But it doesn’t matter. Because the Sasha in your memories is our Sasha, at least, the ones before Prentiss, even if it had that thing’s face. The things she did, those were her. Not the shape of her face or the color of her hair, but the Sasha in your mind…” Jon swallowed. “She is your friend, Martin. Despite who, what was wearing her body.”

“I know that, Jon. Every time I think about her, when I think of the memories I have of her, I…” Martin thought about the time she helped him with the archive system when he first joined the archival team and about the times he’d bring her tea. She used to always thank him and give him the most brilliant smile. And she always had a sweet snack with her that she would share with him, mostly something chocolatey, usually brownies. Whenever he saw a brownie now, he’d see her face, smiling at him. But it wasn’t her face, not really. “I see her in my mind, and I know that isn’t her, I know it’s that thing and I have brought myself to hate her. She – it took her away from me.”

Martin took a deep, audible breath. “And now that she – now that you…”

“Ah.” Jon made a noise of understanding. “Now that you saw me kill her, you see that happening to your Sasha, to our Sasha.”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

They continued to walk in silence for a while, hand in hand. Martin marveled at the novelty of that, of feeling Jon’s bony hand in his, at the sheer fact that he was allowed that now. He squeezed Jon’s hand tighter.

“You think you could do what Elia – what Jonah did? P-plant the image directly into my head?” Martin was not looking at him. When Jon stopped in his tracks, Martin still didn’t look at him. Even though that was something Jon rarely did these days. He always seemed in a hurry to get to the next thing, the next domain, to see and witness and catalogue and record. 

“Yes,” Jon answered. “I can.” His words were slow, careful. He sounded like he did he was trying not to compel him. Martin felt oddly touched by that.

“Is that what you want?”

Martin shuddered. Just remembering that night made his skin crawl. He could still feel it if he thought about it, Elias reaching into his mind poking and probing, taking memories out, playing with them, and putting new ones in. It was, for those short, infinite moments, as if he could never be sure of anything except for what Elias showed him, except for what Elias was showing him, a man that looked exactly like him, the image of his father. It was alien and invasive and wrong, and his mind rebelled at the idea of it.

“No,” Martin sighed. His eyes finally turned towards Jon. “I don’t ever want to go through that again.” His voice was full of conviction.

“Of course,” Jon said. He hesitated then added, “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Jon.”

“No, I know, I… I’m still sorry.”

“Thank you.”

They were silent for a while. The sounds of the carousel were now distant enough that Martin needed to strain to hear them. They weren’t walking through a horror anymore, but they seemed to be walking along the edge of it. Martin was grateful for the reprieve. Yet that did not mean Martin couldn’t still see them in the distance, it didn’t mean he couldn’t still hear the screams. He tried his best to ignore them.

“I can still describe her for you if that’s something you want,” Jon said after a while. He was looking at him and smiling. 

Martin’s first instinct was to immediately agree, but he paused and allowed himself to think about it for a moment more. He still wanted to know, that was for sure. He wanted to make himself remember, even if it meant holding the person Jon would tell him about, the image of this stranger in his mind. It was going to feel awful, knowing what this stranger was his friend, truly, but he will not recognize her. That in his mind, she will remain a stranger forever.  
He looked at Jon, the love of his life, and vowed that he would not forget him. He will never forget him. In the back of his mind, he knew that was not how things would work. But for now, he looked at the face of the man he’d loved for so long, looked at every line, at the arch of his brow, looked at the curve of his lips and his crooked nose, at the grey in his hair. He looked and catalogued and etched every detail in his memory. He will not forget. And with that thought he said,

“I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr [@do-not-feed-the-archivist](https://do-not-feed-the-archivist.tumblr.com). You can talk to me about tma (or anything else)!


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